In the Long Run

“Caution: Bollard Ahead”. I noticed these words painted on the running path at fairly frequent intervals, but I had no idea what a bollard was. Cautious I was, though, because I was running on a path in the industrial area of an unfamiliar big city. My niece’s husband had given me good directions to the path, but he hadn’t mentioned that it was in a slightly run-down area of town.

It was about 7:30 on a Saturday morning, and the path was deserted. I felt a little uncomfortable, and wondered if I’d been naïve to assume that the running paths of most cities, whether large or small, were relatively safe. The path followed a meandering river, and through the trees I could see fences and warehouses, machinery and factories. I kept running, looking out for the bollards, whatever they were.

The first people I saw were two women on bikes. As they pedaled by, the one in the lead said, “There’s a homeless man sleeping by the pond. At the dock.” I didn’t know where the pond was, and I wasn’t sure whether I should be concerned. I continued up a hill and over the top, and saw that the trail edged a large pond, though I didn’t see a dock, or any person. I continued on the path, and around a bend, I saw the dock, and a rough camp, with an empty tent, but no man. I noted with some alarm a bike at the camp, but I decided, perhaps with a bit of judgmental arrogance, that even if a homeless man chased me down on his bike, I would be able to outrun him once he dismounted.

The path left the pond and headed into an even more remote, wooded area. It was shady and cool and pleasant. A sign read, “You may see weeds with flowers. Watch for quail, which live here year round.” I saw lots of weeds, one surprise lone patch of daisies, no quail, and no homeless man. This part of the path was flat and very comfortable for running. Very little nervousness and worry lingered, and my mind wandered to the tragedy still unfolding in my small home town miles away.

I mused on the fragility of life and the abruptness with which it sometimes ends. I wrestled to understand the divine plan which often leaves us with difficult questions, and no clear answers. I mourned the despair and loss for those left grieving. As I ran, I found, if not answers, some peace. The nearby river flowed freely, and its rushing water provided a reassuring constancy amidst change. The quiet shady woods reminded me that sometimes one must be still, and unencumbered by the world’s noise, to hear and understand answers of eternal consequence.

I ran several more miles, and toward the end of my long run, I figured out that bollards are the sturdy metal posts inserted vertically in the running path to prevent people from driving motor vehicles on it. It was especially easy to avoid all of the bollards on my run, given the advance warnings. The figurative bollards in life arrive unsuspectingly, without caution signs, though, and can very painfully knock us right off our paths. Still, there is always hope. And strength derived from our faith, our families, and our friends can help to right us, and get us running again.

Posted by Cyppy at 7:34 PM